Chapter 5: The Truth About Our Mother's Death
I looked at my father.
He didn't move.
The flash drive sat between us like a loaded weapon.
"What is she talking about?"" I asked.
My father lowered his eyes.
"Ethan, this isn't the time.""
"Then when is the time?""
Monica crossed her arms.
"Tell him, Richard.""
My father looked exhausted.
"Monica, stop.""
"No. You've spent years pretending to be the grieving husband. Perhaps your son deserves to know what happened.""
Zora stood beside me, clutching my sleeve.
I felt her tiny fingers trembling.
"Someone tell us the truth," I said.
My father slowly sat on the sofa.
"When your mother died, she had been receiving treatment at St. Catherine's Medical Center.""
I remembered that hospital.
I remembered the white corridors, the smell of disinfectant, and the nurses who gave me paper cups of orange juice while I waited outside her room.
I had been fourteen.
Zora had been three.
My father continued.
"Her condition deteriorated very quickly. The doctors said there had been complications.""
"What complications?""
"An adverse reaction to medication.""
I looked at Monica.
She was watching him carefully.
My father rubbed his face.
"I was told everything had been handled properly.""
"By whom?""
He didn't answer.
Monica did.
"By Dr. Cole.""
The room seemed to tilt.
Dr. Cole had been standing near the door. His face was pale.
My father stood abruptly.
"You knew about this?""
Monica shrugged.
"Of course.""
"How?""
"Because I was there.""
I stared at her.
"What?""
She tilted her head.
"I worked in the hospital's administrative department before I married your father. I knew about your mother's case long before I met Richard.""
My father looked as though he'd been struck.
"You told me you met me at the charity fundraiser.""
"I did.""
"But you knew who I was.""
Monica didn't deny it.
She walked toward the fireplace and picked up a photograph of my mother.
It was an old picture from our family vacation at Lake Michigan.
My mother was smiling, holding a three-year-old Zora against her hip.
Monica looked at the photograph.
"Your mother was very difficult to deal with.""
"Put that down," I said.
She ignored me.
"She had money, influence, and a habit of making everyone around her feel inferior.""
My father snatched the photograph from her hand.
"Don't you dare speak about her.""
Monica smiled coldly.
"She was the reason I had to wait.""
"For what?""
"For the trust.""
I felt my fists tighten.
My father looked at Dr. Cole.
"Tell me whether my wife died because of medical negligence.""
The doctor shook his head.
"I wasn't her primary physician.""
"But you accessed her records?""
"Yes.""
"Why?""
"Monica requested them.""
My father looked toward the flash drive.
"What's on it?""
Monica answered.
"Everything.""
I picked it up.
"Then let's see.""
She stepped forward.
"Don't.""
I looked at her.
"Why? Afraid we'll find something?""
She lunged toward me.
My father caught her arm.
"Enough!""
I took the laptop from the side table and inserted the flash drive.
A folder opened.
Inside were dozens of scanned documents, photographs, audio recordings, and spreadsheets.
One file was labeled:
*MILLER — ESTATE ACQUISITION.*
I opened it.
The first page contained a timeline.
My mother's hospital admission.
Her medication changes.
The date of her death.
Then, three weeks later, a payment to a company registered under Monica's maiden name.
My father leaned over my shoulder.
"What is this company?""
I clicked the registration document.
It listed Monica as the sole director.
Another file contained a recording.
A woman's voice spoke first.
Monica.
"If the mother dies, the trust remains protected until the child reaches adulthood?""
A man's voice answered.
"Correct. Unless a court determines the child is incapable of managing her interests.""
I recognized the second voice.
Dr. Cole.
Monica continued.
"How long would that take?""
"That depends on the medical evidence.""
"And if the evidence shows ongoing cognitive impairment?""
"Then a petition could be filed.""
My father stopped the recording.
His face was gray.
He turned toward Monica.
"You planned this before you married me.""
She shrugged.
"I planned for my future.""
"Did you have anything to do with your first wife's death?""
For the first time, Monica looked genuinely offended.
"Be careful what you accuse me of.""
"Answer me!""
She stepped closer.
"Your wife was already sick. She was taking medication. She was deteriorating. I didn't make her ill.""
Dr. Cole suddenly spoke.
"Monica, that's not entirely accurate.""
She spun around.
"Adrian, don't.""
The doctor swallowed.
"Your wife requested a review of the medication shortly before she died. She suspected that the dosage had been altered.""
My father grabbed the back of a chair.
"Who altered it?""
Dr. Cole looked at the floor.
"I don't know.""
Monica laughed.
"Of course you don't.""
The doctor pulled out his phone.
"I have copies of the original pharmacy records.""
My father stepped toward him.
"Where?""
"At my clinic.""
"Then we're going there.""
"No," Dr. Cole said.
"Not without legal counsel.""
My father stared at him.
"You're already involved in this.""
Before the argument could continue, Zora approached the laptop.
She pointed at a small video file in the folder.
"That's the one.""
I clicked it.
The video showed Monica sitting in what looked like a hospital office.
She was speaking to someone outside the frame.
"Once the mother is gone, the girl will be easy to manage.""
A man's voice answered.
"What about Richard?""
"He'll believe whatever the hospital tells him. He's too busy feeling guilty to ask questions.""
The camera shifted slightly.
A second person entered the frame.
A woman in a hospital uniform.
She placed a document on the desk.
Monica looked up and smiled.
"Good. Now we can finish what we started.""
The video ended.
My father backed away from the laptop.
"Who was that woman?""
I enlarged the image.
The woman's face became clearer.
My father whispered her name.
"Margaret.""
I looked at him.
"Who?""
He swallowed.
"The nurse who cared for your mother during her final week.""
Then Zora spoke.
"She's the woman who came to my school.""
We all turned toward her.
"What?"" I asked.
Zora nodded.
"Last month. She said she knew my mother. She gave me a picture and told me not to let Monica find it.""
My father crouched in front of her.
"Do you still have that picture?""
Zora nodded.
She reached into her sweatshirt pocket and pulled out a small folded photograph.
It showed my mother standing beside Margaret in a hospital corridor.
On the back, written in blue ink, were six words:
*If anything happens, find the second file.*
I stared at the message.
"Where's the second file?""
Zora shook her head.
"I don't know.""
Monica suddenly began laughing.
My father turned toward her.
"What's so funny?""
She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
"Because you people still don't understand.""
She reached into her purse and removed another envelope.
This one contained a hospital photograph.
My mother's face was visible through a glass window.
And beside the photograph was a handwritten note.
The original records are not at the hospital.
My father took the envelope.
His hands shook.
Monica leaned toward him.
"They're in the house you inherited from your first wife.""
Our family had owned a small lakeside property in Michigan.
My mother had loved that house.
We hadn't visited it in years.
My father looked at Monica.
"Why would the records be there?""
May you like
She smiled.
"Because your wife knew someone was trying to kill her.""
